


Without You

by facade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe: Prison, Assisted Suicide, El Clasico References, Events Loosely Based on a Clasico, For You With Love, M/M, One Shot, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facade/pseuds/facade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tumblr request from Betty / Tori (kind of): <em>"write me a one shot"</em>. Sergio is imprisoned for assault, for the third time in a year, awaiting an appeal hearing for his case. While there, he encounters a familiar face and loses something dear to him - his reason to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PenguinBowTie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinBowTie/gifts).



He felt the anger rising and boiling within him as the sound of the cell door closing behind him echoed off of the empty halls of the penitentiary; he didn’t deserve to be here - he was innocent. Sure, that’s what everyone here said and sure, he did have quite the record behind him, however, there was no arguing that his reputation had preceded him in this instance. He had been careful this time, made certain not to even touch the other man so no allegations could be made - it wasn’t enough, he was within the proximity of the other and that’s all the officer had to see. The feeling of cold handcuffs against his skin was enough to slap him paralytic in shock but then again, he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was - it happened every time they met up like this.

Sergio ran a hand through his hair in frustration, sighing as he wished away the memories of the events from the week before: the flashing of police lights and the walls of the holding cell, the look in the judge’s eye seeming to say “I’ve already found you guilty, boy”, the sounds of his friends begging and pleading with judge and the attorneys, the sound of the gravel accompanying the words “no bail” (like it was anything new) and “two years”. No, he didn’t want to think about that anymore. The Spaniard glanced around his small cell, noting that he was momentarily alone in it, and fell down onto the ‘mattress’ on the bottom of the metal bunk bed, groaning as a spring broke through the mattress and stabbed at his body.  _Fucking luxury_. He smiled softly as he closed his eyes gently and became completely consumed by the image of  him, them. He would get him through this, with their memories and with the ones they had left to be made. He always did.

He didn’t know how the hell he had managed to fall asleep while lying on a sack of sharp metal but his eyes fluttered open as the hinges of his cell squeaked open and as the banging of the door closing bounced off of the walls of the prison’s corridors. “I will not be anyone’s bitch,” Sergio announced pointedly without turning to meet the gaze of his new cellmate, “and obviously, you get the top bunk.” When the other person within the cell didn’t answer, Sergio sighed and repeated himself. “Don’t just stand there. I told you, I’m not your bitch and you’ve got the top bunk.” Still no response, though he could hear the other shuffling about the cell: the sound of toiletries landing in the sink basin, the sound of a pillow colliding against the bag of sharp, metal springs above him, shoe soles dragging against concrete. He didn’t bother looking at the other person within the cell, he wanted to appear indifferent and unapproachable, he wasn’t here to make friends with convicts.  _Just do your time and then go back to being a productive member of society. Go back to Iker._  

“I never knew you were such a badass.” The other chuckled as he stood beside the barred window and looked out over the courtyard, frowning as he caught sight of a fight going on beside the basketball courts. He wasn’t the type who found himself in police custody often but, when he did, he had a difficult time understanding the ‘right to remain silent’ and the ‘right not to give evidence against oneself’ parts of his Miranda rights. ‘Yes, your honor, the suspect has admitted to assaulting a one Neymar da Silva Santos Jr. to our officers and has repeatedly said that he, and I quote “would do it again”’. He didn’t even have a trial for bail as it was his second strike. “Do you have a lawyer coming to see you - anyone for that matter? You should definitely appeal your case.”

Sergio had been lying on his bed, staring at the back of his eyelids trying to figure out why the voice of the other man sounded familiar, when the question reached his ears. “How do you know…?” As soon as he caught sight of the other man, a grin spread on his face and he couldn’t choke down his excited giggles. “What the hell are you doing here?” The Sevillan laughed out as he found his feet and pulled the Argentinian into a tight embrace; it was bittersweet to see a familiar face in such a cold place. “I thought you left the office before everything escalated?” He asked as he separated himself from the smaller man. “I swear, these 'business' meetings are getting more and more out of control.”

Angel shrugged and shook his head as Sergio furrowed his brows together. “I didn’t leave soon enough, I guess. I hit Neymar and I guess the officers included it in their report. A detective came for me this morning and it was my second strike. No bail hearing, just sentencing but I guess that’s what happens when you admit to everything,” he chuckled nervously as he ran a hand along his biceps. “I saw the reports, you know, and they didn’t say anything about Javier and Pepe…”

“Of course they didn’t, why would they arrest Javier when they’re on his bosses payroll,” Sergio sarcastically interrupted before he took a place beside Angel and stared out of the window with him. “I swear, this shit just gives me a headache and I…” the buzzing sound of the cell doors unlocking interrupted his thought for a moment and he could hear the sounds of the other inmates filing out and making their way out to the courtyard, “I’m just sick of it.”

“Ramos,” one of the guards shouted as he poked his head inside of the cell, “you have a visitor. I’ll escort you down to the visiting area. Remember, no excessive physical contact, do not accept gifts, do not accept money. Got it? Fantastic. You,” he continued as he caught Di Maria’s attention, “you need to report to the medic for an initial physical. Garcia will escort you. Now come on.”

Sergio gave Angel a small parting smile and silently followed the guard down the hall towards the stairwell. It seemed to take forever to get to the visiting area, they were walking against nearly a hundred other inmates who were cramped and walking through a hall made for no more than three people to be walking side by side, but when they did he accepted that it was worth the effort. He was worth the effort.

“Sergio!” Iker shouted from his metal chair at one of the metal tables, grimacing as he caught sight of the Sevillan clad in solid orange. “You look absolutely repulsive but, I suppose you’ve made worse fashion choices.” He chuckled as he rose from the table and pulled the other in for a short yet tight embrace. “For future references,” he whispered before Sergio pulled away, “I don’t think this orange is your color.”

The Sevillan blushed and shook his head in agreement before he lost himself in the warm brown of Iker’s eyes. “I’ve missed you, so much.” Sergio whispered as the other man smiled softly and reached out to squeeze his hand for a moment; he caught Iker’s hand as the other was withdrawing it from him and gingerly rubbed the veins on its surface. He held the gaze of the other for a moment, drowning in his thoughts and in the purity of the soul of the other. It had only been a week, yes, but a week without Iker was the equivalent to a week without sunlight, a week without water, a week without purpose. He hated things as they were, on the outside; Iker had been unjustly demoted and that meant he saw less and less of him at work but now… Only being able to see him one hour a day for two years - seven hundred sixty hours? That would never be enough but he was willing to try, he was ready to do anything. Iker was his life, his world, his everything. “I just want you to know that I lo-”

“I… I don’t think this is going to work, Sergio.” Iker interrupted in a whisper as he gently pulled his hand out of the grasp of the Sevillan, tears flowing steadily from his eyes as he did so. His heart felt heavy and his thoughts were erratic but he knew deep within his pain filled heart that this, that they, couldn’t keep doing this. “I can’t, I can’t keep going on this way, Sergio.” His voice was broken and his words were weak, he wasn’t sure if it was self-inflicted or if it was the stress of everything that had transpired within the week but…” It hurts so much. For me to see you here, like this. I mean, there’s people with fucking guns watching us, and cameras pointed at us, and you’re in handcuffs for fuck’s sake, and…” Iker choked down a sob and did his best to compose himself. “You were doing so great and I thought, I thought…” Iker shook his head in disbelief and scoffed at himself, “I was so fucking stupid for thinking that you outgrew this, that you were beyond this. I mean, this is the third time in one year, Sergio, the third time I’ve had to see you like this. And I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

He could hear the sound of his handcuffs clinking against the bottom of the table but he couldn’t hear anything that Iker had said beyond those eight words. They repeated themselves over and over again within his mind: I don’t think this is going to work. I don’t think this is going to work. No matter how many times he heard it, he still couldn’t make any sense of it, of what they could possibly mean outside of… No. Anything but that. He would never be able to bring himself to believe that this, that they were ending. “Just give me the chance to fix this.” Sergio whispered as he pulled his blurred vision up towards where the elder man had been sitting, finding the seat now vacated, Iker already gone. "I can't do this without you," Sergio whispered as he felt the guards forcing him to his feet.  

\------

Angel watched in bewilderment as a fully dressed Sergio slowly but meaningfully made his way over towards the largest man in the showers, the tattoos on the chest of the other claiming him to be a part of one of the prison’s gangs. Before Angel could ask Sergio what he was doing, before he could even register any form of rational thought, he saw the Sevillan land a punch square on the other’s jaw.

Bodies on top of a body. Shouts on top of a scream. And the water ran red.

**Author's Note:**

> *They're not called Miranda Rights in Spain (I don't know what they're called) but they're pretty identical and are both requirements of an arrest.


End file.
